Friday, 6 November 2015

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

The King has a nose like a bloodhound. I’m
not kidding, it’s a thing of beauty, and let’s be honest, sometimes a thing of extreme
annoyance. Take mint for instance; he hates it and if he smells it within
a half-mile radius he will sniff it out and tell you to get rid of it. We have
an ongoing war over chewing gum (you’d think he would be championing to chew
it, but alas no). He’s the chewing gum police and I sneak it like an addict
until he smells it, calls me out and demands I spit it out. Obviously I tell
him who is boss when I feel like it, but he actually does me the favour of not looking like a bovine animal.

Funny thing is, I’m starting to realize his
bloodhound nostrils are a genetic trait. I’ve always had a keen sense of smell
(which was a nightmare in pregnancy and when living in Manhattan) and such
acute sense memory when it comes to scents and my childhood. Certain shampoos,
foods, types of trees, you name it, and I’ll be catapulted back in time like I’m
trapped in some studio film. Which being a writer, I quite like. Not to
mention, I also have sensitivity to other smells that I simply cannot be around
– obviously dog poop and garbage go without saying. Perfume for starters has to
pass a litany of tests in order to make it onto my neck and most of course, don’t.

Funny enough, when I met my husband, he was
also huge on smell (as you can imagine, finding the perfect candles and
diffusers for our house take us weeks as my husband likes to literally smell 100 of them before making a decision). When we were looking for a flat, he'd walk into a room, say it smelt
like damp as if he was a building inspector, turn and leave without another word. He was also as
equally as picky as to what he – and I – put on our skins. There is nothing
worse than being told you smell like something NOT desirable to
keep you from buying it ever again. Well actually, there is something worse and
that’s when your husband and your father end up buying the same cologne. IT’S
JUST wrong.

Equally fitting, when I’m away from the King
or my husband, the first thing I miss is their smell. It’s a strange subconscious
thing, but if I can smell them on a t-shirt or item in my possession, I somehow
feel more grounded. On that same note, I am that strange mother that often
smells the top of their son’s head, or the back of their neck just to get a hit
of that something that makes me feel more sane. And no, it’s not always the
good smells that I covet. The King’s morning breath for some reason I find
adorable (I never said I was rational).

Apparently in the realm of relationships, scientists
have tested it, and one can actually smell compatibility. According to a famous
study (that I’m too tired to look up), “human beings are capable of sniffing out certain parts of our potential
partners’ DNA that make up their immune system, called major histocompatibility
genes (MHC), to determine whom we’re compatible with.” Furthermore, we tend to be attracted to people whose MHC compositions are
different from ours so that our offspring's immune system covers as
many diseases as possible. It’s not exactly romantic, but it would make sense
as we’re just mere steps above animals. And what do they do all day but smell
things.

Back to the King and his great smelling neck, I’m not sure if the smell of
his adorable boy sweat means we’re compatible, but it definitely makes me feel
like my blood pressure lowers by a few points. Maybe it’s not fresh cut grass
or rainfall, but I’ll take it.